My father is a picklesman, and his father before him, so I have mixed feelings about dropping this jar of Mr Pullen senior's pickled onions on the kitchen floor. They're salvagable, and their aroma will serve as a reminder of my picklesman heritage, like when I spilled a jar over the upholstery of my brand new company car.
Mixed feelings as I begin the process of putting Disgraceland up for sale, marking an end to my diplomatic presence in the troubled North Birmingham region. The property (the name of which was agreed upon after the originally proposed name* was deemed to be beneath the dignity of the office) served as my official residence during my time as Lord Mayor of Pheasey, as well as my home, which I shared with Jez Alsop, before we consciously uncoupled: indeed, this portrait hung in the reception room, much to the delight of guests and tradespeople alike. Many parties and receptions were held, where the great and good, the not so good, the not too great, and the downright terrible mingled with luminaries and notable figures from North Birmingham's music, literary, journalism, mercantile, politics, philanthropy and arts scenes. Indeed, the terms of the Brilliant Thursday Peace Agreement between Pheasey and KS were agreed in its hallowed rooms. It was not unus...